Cobwebbed Soul
by Castellan
Summary: Post Season 2, Episode 22 "Born To Run" - Of mementoes of those long gone and the difficulty of letting go.


**TITLE:** Cobwebbed Soul**  
RATING:** K+**  
AUTHOR:** Castellan Craft**  
WARNINGS:** Entire series is considered fair game for spoilers.**  
TIMELINE:** Post season 2 episode 22, "Born to Run."

**SUMMARY:** Of mementoes of those long gone and the difficulty of letting go.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Quick down and dirty one off. Being in the middle of a few continuing pieces and hitting writer's blockled me to request a prompt just to get the gears grinding and the spiders screaming. After my cosplaying of Sarah, Dragonoa smartassishly put forward, "Sarah Connor loses her leather jacket." Followed by, "What? I'd be pissed." Don't think this is quite what she intended, but it stuck.**  
DISCLAIMER:** This franchise, created before I was even born, is not in my possession. I'm just having fun with it.

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The bus ride was less then smooth, and every pot hole that flipped her hair out of her face caused a stab of paranoia that someone had seen her and was a quick step away from recognition. It was just her luck that the local police were on a tear about car theft after busting a chop shop. Now Sarah was stuck using public transportation to meet up with Ellison, biting down anxiety every time a screen showed her face as an escaped criminal to be on the look out for. One of the few small favors left to her was how many other convicts had taken advantage of Cameron's break-in and just how many of their faces joined hers on screen in the pixilated slew.

Another favor was the impersonal elements of the human condition. It seemed that the closer people got to each other, the less likely they were look at you. Eyes forward, heads bent, almost everyone on the bus was a perfect copy of the next in both posture and determination not to know you. Sarah was so intent on blending in with them that between the glassy eyes and bouncing seats she didn't notice who was watching her.

Feeling something poke her side, her head whipped around quickly and left her face to face with a boy that couldn't be more then eight. His own gaze was panicked for an instant before turning to the seat ahead of him, a pencil in the hand nearest her, lips twisted in the nervous fashion of someone caught being ill-behaved. Sarah allowed herself to stare for only two heart beats before facing the window again. The easy explanation was that the boy's mother still grasping his other hand might suddenly become less preoccupied with her cell phone. The harder reason to swallow was that she couldn't stand being reminded of John, seeing that expression on him years ago when he'd been so desperate to hide from her the few specks of rust he was trying so hard to clean off one of his knives, ashamed to admit he'd neglected it.

Sarah felt the poke again, and this time looked down to see what was so fascinating about herself. Her eyes flicked down just in time to see the boy had been making a game of trying to slide his pencil between two bullet holes about half a foot from the hem in her leather jacket.

It was a through and through that luckily caught a fold of fabric instead of flesh… at least she hoped there was no wound; John hadn't mentioned being hurt. She was usually vigilant about patching or discarding of her own damaged clothing to help remain inconspicuous, but this was John's jacket, left in a heap of his possessions that she watched fall ungracefully to the ground in Zeira Corp's basement as her eyes still burned from the blinding lights that whisked her son off into the unknown.

She'd gathered everything into a bundle, shrugging it off as leaving no trace, but not quite being able to keep from clutching them a little too tightly for it to be seen as business as usual in Ellison's eyes. He pointedly stayed in the car when they pulled up to a dumpster and she steeled herself for the challenge of being utilitarian and not needlessly holding onto a set of clothes that wouldn't even fit her. The handgun went immediately into her own waistband and his folding knife into her boot. John's sneakers were the first to not be saved, then his shirt. His jeans only followed after she'd searched them through and pocketed his fake ID for later disposal. The window of Ellison's car was down and he was parked fairly close, but he had the good sense to keep his mouth shut as she took an inexorably long time to stare closely at his jacket while biting her lip and blinking furiously, stirred just by the smell of it. Sarah finally shrugged her own slight shoulders into it, not giving a damn how much broader John's were. The sight of her wasn't too off-kilter at least since it was about the right length in the abdomen. The odd pocket watch that didn't tell time was given a home around her neck, never to be given up until she knew the secrets of the buttons inside.

These recollections faded as the boy on the bus leaned in as close as he could without his mother noticing the shift. As his expression reminded her less of John now and more of Marty, surprise was lacking at his next words. "Are you a spy?" he asked in hushed tones. He must have glimpsed her gun through the holes.

The child somehow managed to cut through her black mood so quickly it was almost annoying. The only reaction she let show though was a finger to her lips and a wink. His eyes widened briefly before turning to face forward rigidly again. She got off at the next stop before he could think of anything else to say. Sarah's mood darkened again when she took into consideration that not everyone would jump to such optimistic conclusions if they caught sight of her firearm.

One block later, she had a denim jacket from a thrift store. Two, and John's jacket was tossed into a can down an alley behind a restaurant. Three blocks later a single tear hit the concrete that no one would even notice, Sarah berating herself for getting attached to something as fleeting as a damn smell.


End file.
